


The Flat Seems So Empty

by Hope_Austen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Father/Daughter Relationship, Ficlet, Grief, I'm not sure fic is as dark as tags are implying, Johnlock - Freeform, Loss, M/M, Parentlock, WARNING: Possible Reichenbach and Post-Reichenbach triggers, WARNING: Trigger for loss of a child even though there is no death of a child in this fic, but I thought it better to be safe than sorry., story twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope_Austen/pseuds/Hope_Austen
Summary: Dealing with loss, John returns to the empty flat at 221B and is overcome with the memories there.





	

John felt the weight of each of the 17 steps pulling down on him as he ascended to the hallway and stopped just outside the sitting room of 221B. Trembling, he reached out to turn the door handle, slowly. He feared what his own reaction would be upon entering, but, forever the soldier, John stiffened his jaw and carried on.

As he stepped inside and surveyed the empty room and adjoining kitchen, a flood of memories hit him like an icy downpour. His eyes lit on the dining table and he remembered all of the late-night discussions that had taken place there along with all of the chemicals and other “necessary” experiments that had graced its surface. His gaze traveled along the counter top as he thought about the dinners that had been cheerfully prepared together, but even more, he thought about all of the takeaway cartons and the “stealing” or “sharing” of food that occurred (depending on how one looked at it).

John’s eyes began to well up and he blew out a breath, trying to calm himself, but it was no use. He looked forlornly from one point to another in the room, gazing at the chairs… the sofa … the desks … even the curtains. They all blended together in a swirl of memories … movie nights, arguments, apologies, laughter. The thoughts clenched at John’s heart and twisted his very being. Overwhelmed with the grief of his loss, he stood in the middle of the room, head bowed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as his left hand gently cupped tears that cascaded down his face.

John was so caught up in the profound sadness of the moment that he didn’t hear the soft footsteps that made their way toward him. Suddenly, familiar arms were gently pulling him in, like a bee to a flower, and he found himself completely enveloped in a warm, loving embrace.

“So, move-in day at Uni was difficult?” The deep baritone voice reverberated from the person's chest against which John’s cheek was pressed.

“Yes,” John sniffed.

“I’m truly sorry I couldn’t go with you to help move Rosamund into her dormitory.”

“It’s fine, Sherlock. I know Greg needed you on that case.”

John could feel his husband’s back muscles relax as the two of them stood, syncing their breaths; John's cheek continuing to rest on Sherlock's chest and Sherlock's cheek resting comfortably against the crown of John's silky, grey head.

“She’s gone, Sherlock. My little girl is really gone.”

“John, don't be so dramatic. She's coming home next weekend. Something about a party an—”

“She’s so far away.”

“Um … campus is thirty minutes away by Tube—”

“We’ll never see her.”

“Actually, I’ve fixed the video chat function on your laptop, John. It should be all—”

"Oh, God, what if she meets someone?"

"It's highly probable."

"And _you_  think they're an idiot?"

"Again ... it's highly probable."

"I'm not letting her major in chemistry though, even if she's set on it, because—"

"John. Seriously?"

"No, Sherlock. It's too dangerous. Chemicals are dangerous!"

"I ... don't ... even ... know how to respond to that."

“She’s just so young. A child.”

“She’s 18 years old.”

“She’s not ready, Sherlock.”

“She’s been raised well, John.”

“But, she won’t _need_ me anymore!”

 

And, there it was.

 

A long stretch of heavy silence followed, then the detective's breath shuddered with a whispered reply. 

“She’ll _always_ need her fathers."

John stilled. Sherlock’s use of the plural noun echoed within his mind. In his sadness, John had forgotten that he was not going through this alone. There was another man, a parent, who shared his pain, and in fact, was probably processing through his own. John pulled back and searched his partner’s face, observing Sherlock’s slightly, red-rimmed eyes.

As if on cue, both men leaned their faces toward one another, lips locking securely, moving effortlessly, probing deeply, drawing comfort and providing love. Sherlock was the first to break the kiss, but his mouth continued to trail gentle touches on John’s cheek, eyelids and forehead, along his hairline and down to his ear where the detective softly spoke, “I miss our daughter, too.”

John grasped Sherlock tighter and the two of them stood holding each other for several moments, chests rising and falling in unison, eyes closed in the stillness of their home, in the temporary peacefulness that surrounded them. They were on the cusp of a new phase in their lives, facing the future as they always do nowadays … together. And for the first time in awhile, John’s thoughts weren’t tinged with sadness, but rather a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, the best adventures were yet to come … for all three of them.


End file.
